Ethan's Daughter. Rachel Brimble

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СКАЧАТЬ you what, Daisy. Why don’t you tell me where you live and I’ll get you home before we’re both soaked through. How will that be?”

      Daisy smiled for the first time, her eyes bright even as the rain plastered her curls flat to her head. “That will be good. Thank you.”

      Leah smiled back, itching to give Daisy a hug. “You’re welcome. Do you know your address?”

      “Sure. I live on Clover Point. Our cabin is called King’s Korner. With a K.”

      “Huh.” Leah nodded, already forming a picture of the little girl’s father. “Did your daddy name the cabin? Fancies himself a king, does he?”

      “No.” Daisy giggled. “I think it’s because of a writer he likes.”

      “Hmm...why don’t we get you home and I can ask him myself.”

      Hand in hand, she led Daisy along the promenade toward Clover Point, situated at the far end of the Cove. Although they walked as fast as possible, it took them a good twenty minutes. Leah’s blood was boiling. How long had Daisy been gone from home for her father to not notice her missing? Worse, what if she was lying for her father and he’d actually sent her out alone so he could get some precious work done?

      A hundred and one parents had come up with the same sorry words as she’d stitched and bandaged up their bored kids, who’d sought out their own unsupervised fun.

      Night was falling quickly and, with only the old-fashioned streetlights to aid their ascent, Leah’s temper steadily grew with each trudging step. The only people they saw on this wet and windy night were a man cycling past them on his way farther up the point and a woman running in the opposite direction.

      With the increasing ferocity of both wind and rain, Leah would normally be running herself as she made her way home.

      “This is our house.” Daisy pulled her hand from Leah’s and hurried up the gravel driveway toward the log cabin. “Come on.”

      The cabin was about halfway up Clover Point, which meant it was one of the most affluent properties in the Cove. Which also meant Daddy Dearest wasn’t short of a penny or two. Her irritation rising, Leah hurried after Daisy, who stood waiting on the front step.

      Lamps flickered through the living room window; the curtains were open, showcasing the beamed ceiling and what looked to be lots of brown leather furniture. Overflowing bookshelves were visible in the background, some sort of wooden elephant ornament stood on the windowsill, and beige drapes curled at the window’s edges.

      At least Daisy’s father seemed to be home, even if his taste in decor held the colorless appeal of the Dickensian.

      To the right of the front door, the kitchen/dining room stretched all the way to the back of the house. Even in the semidarkness, Leah could see straight through to some French doors at the rear, the only illumination coming from the overhead light of the stove as it glinted on steel toward the center of the room.

      Snapping her gaze to Daisy, Leah found her opinions on personal tastes flying to the wayside. The little girl’s eyes were wide as she chewed her bottom lip. Leah frowned. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Do you want me to knock?”

      Daisy nodded and raised her arms toward Leah as though asking to be picked up. “Yes, please. Daddy might be mad.”

      “Oh, Daddy won’t be mad.” Leah bent and picked her up, hitching her onto her hip as Daisy’s arms wound around her shoulders. “If Daddy’s mad, I’ll show him how to calm himself down real quick. Don’t you worry about that.” She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall a little harder than necessary.

      No answer.

      Narrowing her eyes, she knocked again.

      She was readying to knock a third time when the door swung open.

      “I told you to get the hell out of here and not come back.” The man’s dark hair sprouted from every angle, his raging eyes bulged and his right hand was swathed in a blue-and-white—and bloodied—dish towel. His gaze held Leah’s for a split second before he snapped his attention to Daisy.

      “My God, Daisy. What are you...?” He cupped her under her armpits, wincing slightly as he pulled her from Leah’s arms to hold her close. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

      Leah stared, completely stunned by this flannel-shirted, blue-jeaned, incredibly good-looking man...despite the bulging eyes. She coughed in a bid to find her voice. “Mr. James?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re Daisy’s father, I presume?”

      Apparently, when his eyes had softened and were filled with regret rather than rage, they looked good. Really good. Leah stepped back.

      Oh, good Lord. She’d be damned if those weren’t the eyes of Templeton’s reclusive novelist, Ethan James.

      * * *

      ETHAN INHALED AGAINST the slam dunk of shame versus relief that had hit him in the chest when he’d seen Daisy in a stranger’s arms. Albeit a beautiful stranger. “Yes. Yes, I am. Ethan James. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his left hand, balancing Daisy on his right hip and forearm. “Thank you so much for bringing her back. Where was she?”

      The stranger ignored his offered hand, her hazel eyes flashing dangerously even as rain dripped from her blond bangs and slipped behind her glasses. “Why would you not know where your child is at all times?”

      “I thought...” He stepped back into the hallway. “Look, why don’t you come in? I’ll put some coffee on. You’re soaked.”

      She snatched a look behind him. “Thank you, but no. I just want to know why your little girl was wandering alone on the beach—”

      “The beach?” He turned to his daughter. “Why were you on the beach? Why would you leave the house?”

      Daisy sniffed and burrowed her face into his neck. Ethan’s heart hitched at the depth of his neglect. Nausea rose bitter in his throat and he looked to the woman who’d brought his precious baby home. “I was caught up with something. I really can’t thank you—”

      “Caught up with something?” Her eyes narrowed. “As in work?”

      Whether rightly or wrongly, he suddenly felt defensive. “Hey, I’m trying my best, okay?”

      “No, not okay.”

      Her glare was mean, yet justified. He slumped his shoulders and shifted Daisy onto his other hip, his right hand throbbing as warm blood trickled over his wrist. The woman’s gaze snapped to his injured hand and he held it behind his back. “Look, I need to... Why don’t you come in? I really appreciate you bringing Daisy home. The least I can do is offer you coffee and a towel.”

      She frowned. “What have you done to your hand?”

      Damn it. “Nothing.”

      “Nothing?” She raised her eyebrows. “That dishcloth is doing a pretty bad job of soaking up nothing.” Sighing, she waved him back and stepped into the hallway. “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll take a look.”

      “You really don’t have to do—”

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